Page 65 of American Beauty

The door clicks shut, and the silence that follows is deafening.

What the hell just happened?

One minute, I was reviewing fabric swatches and debating headboards. The next, Ty was on his knees, demonstrating why the beds need to be taller.

Of course, he wouldn’t just look at my mood board and call it a day. No, he had to make it an immersive, hands-on kind of experience.

The bed is too low for eating pussy––they don’t teach you that problem-solving skill in interior-design classes.

The real joke is on me. Because for a second—one fleeting, reckless moment—I allowed myself to wonder what it would feel like to let go. To give in. Close my eyes and pretend.

Imagine he was Alex.

Maybe a meaningless fuck would help—a way to silence the ache, to feel something other than this endless, hollow pain. But even that feels impossible. My body might crave the distraction, but my heart isn’t ready. Not yet.

Chapter 20

Magnolia Steel

My laptop is open,the guest room mood boards pulled up. Images stare back at me, but my focus is shot. My mind is tangled up in something I shouldn’t be thinking about.

It’s been two days since the close-call-cunnilingus incident. Not long enough to forget the way Ty’s lips pressed against my thigh, the way his breath was hot against my skin, the way my pulse thundered in my ears when his mouth hovered there.

Well, hell––if this ain’t a damn clusterfuck, served up hot with a buttered biscuit.

I snap the laptop shut, wishing it were that easy to shut down my mind too.

Ty and I haven’t talked since. Haven’t acknowledged the moment we crossed a line. Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe silence is the best way to move forward.

Except, are we moving forward? Or are we waiting for it to happen again?

The shrill ring of my phone slices through the silence. I glance at the screen, and my stomach tightens.

Tyson-fucking-McRae.

I hesitate, my pulse kicking up. I should let it go to voicemail. Keep things easy and safe.

But apparently, I’m a closet masochist.

What the fuck am I doing?

“Hello.”

“Good morning, Magnolia. How are you?” His voice is deep, smooth, like nothing is out of place between us. Like he isn’t the last person I should speak to right now.

“I’m good.” I hesitate for half a second. “Doing a little work.”

“What are you working on?”

I glance at my closed laptop. “Still on guest-room designs. Lots of decisions to be made while we’re waiting for the historical preservation board to approve the plans we submitted.”

It’s not a lie—I am working. But that’s not what’s consuming me. My mind has been looping all day, trying to make sense of what happened between Ty and me.

The way he touched me.

The way I almost let him take it further.

The way I might have wanted him to keep going.

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